


A Chance Worth Taking

by SecurityBreach



Series: A Chance Worth Taking [1]
Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgardian Tony Stark, Class Differences, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, FrostIron - Freeform, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki Gets a Hug, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki's Lips Sewn Shut, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Smith!Tony, Taking serious liberties with Norse Mythology, Thor's not a good brother, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a smith on Asgard, class distinctions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecurityBreach/pseuds/SecurityBreach
Summary: When Thor, his friends, and his younger brother Loki visit Anton's workshop on Asgard, the smith is shocked to see that the rumours about Loki's recent torture are true.





	

Anton Havardhsson was the gifted and only son of the most famous and successful smith Asgard had ever known. Havardh was not only renowned for his innovations and the superior quality of his work, he was also marvelled at for his unique business sense.

Years ago, Havardh had had the brilliant idea to established a large smithy just outside Glaðsheim, the main town of Asgard. Now he was rich, and had a small army of blacksmiths, weaponsmiths, armourers, whitesmiths working in silver and pewter, and farriers working for him. There was even a foundry, and a special department where metal workers experimented with new alloys.

Apprenticeships with Havardh were much sought after, and he only accepted the most talented candidates in his service. Sometimes even dwarfs asked him for jobs, and it was well known that Havardh had been taught many secrets from Nidavellir in return.

Anton had worked at all stations while he grew up in order to learn his business from scratch, as Havardh put it. In the end he decided to specialise in weapons, and soon made himself a name as a smith for fine blades. There was a waiting list for his swords, and Anton would never forget the day he had told Tyr, the God of War himself, that he would have to wait at least for a year before Anton could even start to work on the god’s order.

The expression on Tyr’s face had been priceless, and that evening the young smith and his father, who unfortunately did not always enjoy the easiest relationship, spend a few merry hours together exchanging anecdotes about the times they had witnessed some members of the warrior caste making fools of themselves.

Because the link between the so-called nobility and workmen like Havardh and Anton tended to be a little strained to say the least.

 

Warriors and courtiers traditionally looked down on those who actually worked with their hands to make a living, and many bills remained unsettled because the nobles had a tendency to live beyond their means, and felt little respect for the merchants and craftsmen of Asgard.

From his workshop Anton could see the gilded palace of Odin All-father, their king, and he knew that all its metal work came from Havardh’s smiths. Not even half of it had been paid for so far. It was generally felt that the king didn’t set a good example, and did not do his realm’s economy a favour.

 

This was why Anton wasn’t too happy when he saw Prince Thor, the God of Thunder and Odin’s first born son, followed by a gang of warriors known as the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif, enter his father’s shop.

The prince hardly acknowledged the smith's presence, and started to discuss the merchandise on display with his cronies as if Anton didn’t exist.

This attitude hurt the talented, highly educated and hard working craftsman, and he tried to distract himself from the arrogant youngsters.

Anton thought on the various rumours he had heard about Thor’s friends, and he smirked when he recalled the ones about Fandral, a quite handsome nobleman without any fortune to his name. He had built himself a reputation as a lady’s man, and people said that his income consisted mainly of the generous gifts he received from his many lovers for services rendered.

Well, if Fandral had been born into Anton’s class, people would have called him a whore.

 

Now a sixth person slipped quietly inside, and Anton recognised Loki, Thor’s younger brother, the God of Mischief.

Loki was an entirely different matter.

He was known to manage his financial affairs much better than his brother, who somehow always found himself in debt at the end of the season. This never happened to Loki, even if the country estate that provided his income was much smaller than Thor’s. He never spend more than he had, and was even known to invest in his lands.

Another thing that was known about Loki was that he didn’t enjoy much respect at court.

The prince had a reputation for being bookish, and certainly didn’t behave like a typical member of the class he represented. He studied history and the law, and a lot of people felt that this was a step in the right direction for someone who might be their ruler some day, or a close councillor to the ruler in case Thor should be chosen to be their future king.

Loki’s interest in magic was not so well received, because it was considered a womanish art that was not quite suitable for a man.

There was a lot of talk of Loki’s extravagant taste in clothing, and many tales were told about the prince lovingly choosing the finest fabrics and softest leathers for his latest elaborate outfit. But the smiles were gentle, because it was such a harmless eccentricity. The intricate designs and dark colours were very becoming to Loki, and he always paid his tailor's bills in time.

Most members of the artisan class couldn’t think ill about a prince who had a grasp of the fundamental law of their economic reality.

Anton recalled the few times he and the young god had met, and there had always been something awkward about him. The prince, who was only a few years younger than the weaponsmith, had a tendency to stare at Anton in a slightly disturbing manner, and was prone to linger longer than the situation called for.

Sometimes Anton wondered if the prince had a crush on him, especially after he had been made aware of the rumour that Loki preferred men to women. Well, Anton himself had always swung both ways, and had no problem with that. He knew that there were at least two smiths working for Havardh who lived with male partners, and nobody in the workshop felt bothered by them. They were members of Havardh's workforce, and as such they were respected by their peers. But Anton had heard that things were seen differently at court, especially among the warriors, and that this could become a problem for Loki. Intimate relations between men were not illegal on Asgard, but they were not considered respectable either.

It is a pity, the smith thought, that there would be no chance to get to know Loki better. It was always business and formality. Anton would have liked to meet the prince on a private level, because the handsome, slender god with a reputation for wit, intelligence and thoughtfulness sounded just like the kind of partner he was looking for.

 

“Loki, look at this,” Thor exclaimed suddenly, not even bothering to look around while addressing his brother. The God of Thunder held up a gaudy dagger. “Isn’t this something for your collection?”

“It’s a show piece not meant for actual fighting,” Anton muttered apologetically because Loki was as skilled with his knives as Thor was with his war hammer. There was no way that the younger prince could take a liking to the useless thing. But Anton’s remark made the God of Mischief look his way, and the young smith gasped.

Loki’s mouth was rimmed by a ring of angry red scars.

 _Norns_ , Anton thought. I had so much wished that this story wasn’t true.

  
*****

 

The tale Anton was thinking on had spread like a wildfire on Asgard only a few weeks ago and was still talked about in every household and every tavern.

It seemed that Loki had made a stupid and reckless bet on Nidavellir, the realm of the dwarfs, lost it, and found a way to worm himself out of paying the price he had agreed upon. Strictly speaking this wasn’t honourable, but he offered the dwarfs involved some gold as a compensation. By Asgardian standards this would have been sufficient.

But the dwarfs, a pair of brothers named Brokkr and Sindri, decided that it wasn’t enough. They went straight to Odin and asked for Loki’s head as a fitting punishment. Of course the All-father didn’t agree with that, but he allowed the brothers to sew the prince’s mouth shut with some enchanted wire to teach his son's lying tongue better manners. Odin made Thor hold Loki firmly in place during the procedure. Afterwards the God of Mischief was locked away in the dungeons until he grew quite delirious with thirst. Only then he was carried to the healers’ chambers, where he had to stay in intensive care for more than a week.

After that, Odin told Thor to drag his brother around Asgard to make sure everybody saw the wounds on Loki’s face and acknowledged his shame.

This did not sit well with the good citizens of the Golden Realm, at least not with the part of the population that actually had to work for a living.

The men were outraged at the idea of a father making a brother act against his sibling, and felt disgusted by the random and mindless cruelty of the act.

The women blamed Queen Frigga for not stepping in as it should have been her duty.

 

Anton remembered an afternoon when his four aunts, his late mother’s sisters, had visited. Havardh had of course disappeared as soon as he heard the women’s voices, but Anton enjoyed their company because they always called him a sweet boy, and generally spoiled him silly.

Anton thought that he would never be to old for that.

Loki had been the main topic that day, and it turned out that Aunt Malin, a well-known embroiderer with a profitable shop and a good reputation, had been working Loki’s linens for many years. The prince had written many letters of thanks and reference that had helped to put more business in Malin’s way. Now she employed five girls in her workshop, two servants for more general work, and owned the house she lived in.

“I don’t know about life at court,” she had said. “But the Loki I met is kind and considerate, and takes great joy in the beautiful things life has to offer.”

“Yes,” Aunt Magla answered. “So you have told us before. But we all know that there has always been this cruel streak in Odin’s family.”

Aunt Mabil nodded. “Just remember Odin’s father Bor, and what he did to the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim.”

And just because Aunt Madde couldn’t stay silent, she added that she felt that Thor, despite all his glory and beauty, was perhaps _not_ the better one of the brothers, and that Loki could make a better king than his golden sibling.

Oh, and Odin, Frigga, and Thor ought to be ashamed of themselves.

Everybody fell silent after that because the conversation was starting to border on lèse-majesté and high treason.

  
*****

 

When Anton looked at the wounded prince standing in Havardh's shop, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of sympathy rushing through him and he gave Loki a warm smile. Anton didn’t know the power of his smile at that time. It gave his dark eyes a warm glow, and made the person he was facing feel both welcomed and appreciated.

It made Loki instinctively take a small step towards the smith. But then he regained control, stepped back into the shadows and lifted both his hands in a gesture of defiance and apology.

Anton felt that his smile was perhaps the first friendly signal the prince had received in weeks.

If this is life at court, he thought, then give me the smithy any time. We have our fights too, and there are a lot of things that could go better, but we don’t do things like this.

Never like this.

  
*****

 

That day, Anton worked long and hard to get the anger out of his system. Loki’s situation was basically none of his business, but it made him mad that these people felt themselves above him. He was too tired even to wash himself when he finally went to bed and lay down soaked in sweat and covered with soot. He slept deep and long, dreaming of kissing away the young prince’s scars, and holding his lithe body tight until the hurt had gone from his eyes.

  
*****

 

A week later, Loki came to Anton’s own workshop at dawn. He crept in silently and watched as the smith started to fire his forge. Then he stepped forward and carefully put down a large, heavy looking bundle on Anton’s workbench.

“Good morning,” the prince said politely and Anton noticed his sophisticated, calm voice. It was a cold and misty morning, but the sound alone made the smith’s body feel warmer.

“Good morning,” he answered and looked questioningly at the bundle.

“Do you work Uru?” Loki asked, opening the package.

 

Anton just couldn’t believe what he was seeing. In front of him sat a huge lump of what was possibly the most precious and rare metal known on the nine realms. Its magic abilities were legendary, and Thor’s theurgic war hammer Mjolnir was said to be made entirely out of the stuff. This would make her the most valuable and mighty weapon in existence.

Loki had just brought a fortune to Anton’s workshop, and the smith was well aware that battles could be fought over this. He let his fingers run over the metal’s surface and felt the raw magic pulsating from it. Oh, he wanted to work with it, waiting list be damned. Loki's order became his number one project immediatly, even if he only wanted a fruit knife or some manicure scissors.

“Where did you find this?” Anton asked finally.

The God of Mischief gave him a thin and strained smile. “Perhaps it would be better for you not to know. Let’s just say I felt I deserved a little treat after my recent collision with my father’s justice.”

“Ah,” Anton said. Yes, that was a sentiment he could understand. And then he leaned forward and touched Loki’s scars gingerly. Because Anton was just this kind of idiot. “Will they go away?”

Instead of cutting (or biting) Anton’s fingertips off, the prince smiled painfully at him again. “Fortunately, my Uncle Frey send me some rare balm from Vanaheim just in time. The scars will eventually disappear, but not in a little while. I guess I have to learn and live with them for a year or two.”

You’re still handsome, Anton thought. He covered the Uru carefully again and hid it under the workbench. This was no sight for prying eyes. “So, what can I do for you, Loki?”

"Could we keep the Uru a secret?" Loki asked hesitatingly.

"Sure," the smith agreed. "Why not?"

Loki looked relived. “I need a new set of throwing knives and daggers, and I was told that you are the best bladesmith on Asgard.”

“True,” Anton said, cocking his head, and this time Loki laughed, flipping his long black hair in a charming and youthful gesture that made Anton desperate to touch the glossy locks. The prince’s laughter sounded rich and gentle, and the smith used the moment to usher him into his office. Then he called for a servant, and ordered some tea and a plate of pastries for a light breakfast.

“I need to see your hands,” Anton said boldly, and held out his own towards the prince. He could see caution mingled with curiosity in Loki’s eyes, and the prince blushed.

So the rumours are true, Anton thought. Odin’s younger son _does_ like men.

After a moment's hesitation, Loki held out his hands willingly and watched as the smith let his fingers run over them, tracing the muscles.

“Strong hands,” Anton said after a while. “May I see the knives you have used until now?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have them with me,” Loki confessed.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here all day.” In fascination, the smith touched the god’s elegant wrists. Such pale skin, he mused, comparing his own bronzed arms to Loki’s white hands.

“I never seem to get a suntan,” the prince whispered as if he had read Anton's mind. “I have to spend the day with Thor and his idiot friends again, but I think I could sneak out in the evening. There is some stupid feast tonight, and I’m sure nobody is going to miss me.”

“Good,” Anton said. Then he fetched a piece of parchment and took notes on the design Loki favoured, while the prince had a cup of tea and enjoyed a cinnamon roll. The smith felt it was good to see Loki so relaxed, and promised himself to forge the best knives he had ever produced for him.

 

  
*****

 

That afternoon, Anton finished working early and went to the bathhouse. Once he had thoroughly cleaned himself, the smith send for a barber and got a haircut. He paid extra to have his short beard trimmed in the elaborate fashion he favoured, and put on the fresh, dark red tunic he had purchased on his way to the public bath.

He met Havardh on his way home, and the older craftsman raised an eyebrow at him. “Hot date, son?”

Anton winced. “More like a promising business contact, father.”

“As long as you’re careful, Anton. Some things are not meant to be mixed.”

“Yes, father.”

 

Anton went to the kitchen and ordered a generous selection of Smørrebrød and a bottle of mead. This should be good enough for a prince, he thought as he settled down in his office and started to wait.

The smith passed the time by browsing through the notes he had taken earlier. Loki wanted simple knives, slim, well-balanced, and deadly. With a blackened, non-reflecting surface. Made sense. You wouldn’t want to give your enemy an early warning. And being made of Uru, the weapons couldn’t get lost and would always return to their owner.

Well, lucky Loki.

Anton smiled. The Uru the prince had given him was much more than he needed for a set of knives and daggers.

According to Anton’s calculations, it was enough material for an additional light breastplate. The young smith had spend his time with his father's armourers well, and felt thoroughly up to the task. A simple, toned downed affair, also darkened, that would blend in nicely with Loki’s elegant wardrobe. Perhaps one single ornament was acceptable. Suddenly Anton had an idea. Yes, that would look good.

He heard a soft chuckle and looked up. Loki was standing in the doorway. “What are you smiling at, Son of Havardh?” the prince asked and Anton blushed. Loki strutted towards him and sat down without waiting for an invitation. “I have brought some mead from my father’s cellars,” he said in a mocking voice.

“Let me guess,” Anton said. “You felt that another treat was due to you.”

“Perhaps.”

“Interesting, but now I’ve got to fetch a measuring tape.”

“A measuring tape?”

“Yes, I need to take your chest circumference. Drinks later.”

 

When the smith returned Loki was eyeing the food Anton had ordered. “It seems you like to do business in style,” he said.

“Well, yes. But right now, I want you to get up and take off your vest. Stretch your arms, please. Sideways.”

Loki looked surprised and frowned a little, but he did as he was told. Anton, who could grow quite obsessed with his work, took his measurements, wrote them down and muttered to himself all the time.

 

“Anton, the Uru would be quite enough for _what_?” Loki asked after a while.

The smith blinked at him in surprise. Hadn’t the prince been listening? "Huh?"

“It sounded to me as if you were planning to make a breastplate.”

“Well, yes,” the smith said. ”What do you think?”

“Is there really enough Uru for that?”

“According to my calculations, yes.”

“That would be more than I had imagined.”

Anton smiled and traced a semicircle on Loki's chest with an index finger, not far below the god's neck. “And I would decorate it with a single inlaid, stylised gorget, very toned down. Perhaps in gold, or bronze.”

“Nothing too shiny, please. I fear I lack the bravado to ride into battle while advertising my presence.” But the prince looked excited and happy at the idea of getting some new armour too.

“Oh, I think that you have more courage than your brother and all his idiot friends together.” Anton reached out for Loki’s face, and touched his scarred mouth again. “And you are beautiful, my prince, no matter what they did to you. Never let them tell you otherwise.”

Loki’s bright green eyes opened wide, and he picked Anton’s hand off his face. “Red looks good on you,” the prince blurted out nervously while holding on to the artificer's hand, and Anton suddenly became very thoughtful. Could it be that Loki was still a virgin? Then the god started to trace each and every one of the smith’s burn scars with his thumbs first, and then with his lips.

Norns, it feels _so good,_ but such  _confusing_ signals, the workman thought.

“We’re probably going to see each other a lot while I'm working on your gear?” Anton asked carefully, trying to find out what the prince wanted from him. Was it a one-night stand? Or perhaps something more?

“I’d like to get to know you,” Loki said bluntly, and without a warning.

Anton swallowed. “Okay.”

“And I think you should know that I find you charming and attractive.” Now _that_ really took some courage to say.

“Okay,” Anton said again. “In that case I suggest we get to know each other by _all means_.”

“Perhaps I could take you to the training ground tomorrow and show you my throwing technique?”

“I’m sure that would be very helpful. But for now I’d like to try something else.” The craftsman guided Loki back to the couch, and gently made him sit down, taking the seat close to him. Everything about the prince, from his awkward posture to his clumsy attempts at making contact, advertised his lack of experience. “Tell me, have you ever been with a man before?”

“No,” Loki whispered.

“A woman?”

“It never occurred to me.”

 

So Anton had been right. Loki _had_ a problem. Swinging both ways was one thing, but men who only laid with other men often found themselves marginalised and shunned by those who considered themselves normal. “That’s all right, Loki” Anton said soothingly. “We’ll take our time, shall we?”

Loki nodded.

“Relax,” Anton told him, and started to run his hands across the prince's chest.

Soon, Loki leaned into the touch and the smith felt eager hands reciprocating his caresses. Then a curious mouth found his lips, and Anton let his hands run through the prince’s hair. “Just take your time, my sweet,” he whispered when Loki let go to catch some breath. “We have all night.”

“And more if you want to,” the prince said, with a question in his eyes.

So _more_ was a definite possibility. "Yes," Anton answered. His feelings were far too complex for more than this single syllable right now, and he was wondering if they had a chance. He knew that he would never be received at court, no matter how rich or skilled he was. Anton also knew that Havardh had more money than all of Thor's friends together, but he was only a smith.

 

And then Loki, who got so little respect from his family, and had so much to fear, leaned forward and did something wonderful. "Don't be afraid," he said, placing his hands firmly on Anton's shoulders. "Tony."

 

 _Tony._ No one had ever called Anton that. A new name, and it sounded just right coming from Loki's lips. He liked it much better than the slightly fancy and outlandish _Anton_ , and he simply had to repeat it. "Tony."

Loki smiled. " _My_ Tony."

Yes, Tony thought, we _do_ have a chance. And I'll be damned if I don't take it. "Come," he told the prince. "Let me show you something to do with your _tongue_." Loki's eyes widened again as the smith pulled him closer to give him the first deep kiss of his life while praying silently to the Norns to help them, and make it last. But I will fight for this, Tony decided, and somehow he knew that Loki just felt the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Havardh is the Old Swedish version of Howard. I found it along with the names of Tony's aunts on the following site: https://www.nordicnames.de/wiki/Main_Page
> 
> It's a great resource for all kinds of northern European names throughout the ages, and a wonderful place for research.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading my fic! I hope you enjoyed it. Would you like to leave a comment or kudos? It would be great to hear your opinion. It may take some time for me to answer, but you'd make me very happy. Thank you.


End file.
